The Measure of a Man
by MisaRox
Summary: Ric Flair decides it's time. One shot.


**The Measure of a Man**

By MisaRox.

**Author's Note**: The song used in this fic is "The Measure of a Man" by Elton John.

Please, if you have not heard this song for whatever reason, find it, download it, rip it from the Rocky V soundtrack – do whatever you have to do to hear it. It is an awesome song, and that's why I used it for this story. Please find it! It's great, you'll love it, I promise.

Also, this is the first fan fiction I've written in 5 years. Please be gentle if I suck. I'm really rusty.

Enjoy!

-

Surgery could not remove the smile from his face. Ric Flair was beaming. He took a deep breath, and turned toward the arena, full of fans, and he waved at them one last time. Camera flashes went off in various parts of the stadium. He blew them a kiss, and turned back around, walking through the curtain.

_These battered hands are all you own,  
This broken heart has turned to stone,  
_

He stopped in his tracks, in darkness. He was now Richard Fliehr. The "Ric Flair" persona – character – had been left outside those curtains for good; for the last time. He took a deep breath, feeling a sense of accomplishment wash over him. The limousine rides, flying on jets, stealing kisses, the wheeling, and dealing – the son of a gun himself – was officially a part of the past.

_Go hang your glory on the wall,  
There comes a time when castles fall,  
And all that's left is shifting in the sand,_

Walking down the steps and into the backstage area, he was immediately met by various superstars. Paul, Adam, everyone he considered family. They all took turns hugging him, and slapping him on the back. Ric's smile tightened, afraid his tears would spill out prematurely.

"I hope everything went well," Michael Hickenbottom said, with an arm around his idol and a wipe of his brow. He walked with Ric to the dressing room, wanting to cherish this last moment – Ric Flair, the wrestler, having wrestled one last time against him.

"Oh, it was phenomenal. It was everything I envisioned and more," Ric breathed, as he felt himself coming to the realization that it was really over.

_You're out of time, You're out of place,_

"Ric," Michael said, stopping him, "I want you to know that it was an immense honor to wrestle you, and be your last opponent ever. I can't…even begin to configure my words. I don't think they exist yet."

Ric chuckled, and patted his friend on the shoulder, "Please. I should be thanking you. You've always been a tough act to follow, Michael. And I appreciate your words, as well as your sharing your talent with me."

They hugged tightly, exchanged brotherly "I love you"s, and smiled before Ric headed on his way. Michael watched him as he left. The man he loved, he idolized, he worshipped. He smiled at himself, realizing that this moment would be perfect for his own retirement as well. Everything he'd done was everything he'd ever wanted to do.

Ric stepped into his dressing room, chuckling to himself. He knew he'd made the right decision, holding off this night for now. Now, when everyone around him was everyone he'd ever wanted to be around. Now, when the fans continued to show their love and dedication after all these years. Now, when, here on out, it would be all up to Father Time.

_Look at your face,  
__That's the measure of a man,_

He untied his robe, and slipped it off, laying it over the bench. He stared at it, furrowing his brow. After all these years, it had still fit. After all this time, it was still his favorite. It was almost a travel buddy, never really leaving his side.

_This coat that fits you like a glove,  
These dirty streets you learned to love,_

As he prepared to take a shower, his thoughts wandered through prominent moments and people in his life, his career, and how every single moment contributed to his amazing career.

Greg Gagne, Jim Brunzell…

After untying his boots, he took them in his hands and stared, as they had been one of his many treasured possessions. "R.F," they read, fancily. He smiled, running his fingers along the letters. These boots, his gear, everything was just as much a part of his prestigious career as his own heart.

_So welcome back my long lost friend,  
You've been to hell and back again,  
God alone knows how you crossed that span,_

Billy Robinson, Jimmy Crockett, Rick Steamboat, Roddy Piper…

He stepped into the shower and watched the water swirl down the drain, almost hypnotically. With the water hitting him and flowing down his skin, he felt himself washing away the biggest and most important chapter in his life. His 35 years in the industry were now a closed book, only alive in the hearts of those who saw it.

After his shower, Ric patiently dressed himself in his best suit and tie. It had been hinted that the boys were going to take him out to a retirement dinner, and he had been requested to dress nicely. Staring at the tie he planned to wear, he remembered having worn it often in the past, in his prime, and now…tonight.

_Back on the beat, back to the start,  
Trust in your heart,  
That's the measure of a man,_

Jimmy Snuka, Greg Valentine…

A knock on his door interrupted his mental movie montage.

"Almost ready, Ric?" Michael shouted from outside.

Ric glanced at his watch, "Yeah, about 5 more minutes!"

"You got it, man, we'll be outside!"

Ric chuckled again, and pulled his bag out from under the bench. He neatly packed his gear in, boots tucked in on the left, his carefully-folded robe on the right, and everything else in-between. Zipping the bag shut, he grabbed his other case of luggage and walked out. Before shutting the door behind him, he gave the room a longing look. His last dressing room, at his last wrestling event. He sighed, and closed the door.

David Von Erich, Kerry Von Erich…

The dinner was attended by everyone he held dear. Wine was served like water, and not a moment went by without a fond or humorous memory of Ric. Most found themselves in tears of laughter or simple sentiment over the man responsible for their own success. Ric laughed on the inside, finding his face aching after all the grins from the night.

Bobby Heenan, Randy Savage, Sid Eudy…

Michael stood tall on a chair, and clinked his wine glass, "Everyone! If I can have your attention!"

The laughter and talking stopped and everyone turned their attention toward their co-worker.

"I propose a toast to Ric, who is the epitome of many words in the English language. Words like 'man,' words like, 'wrestler,' 'competitor,' 'legend,' and most importantly to me, 'brother.'"

Ric smiled, looking down, trying to conceal his overwhelming emotion.

"This man has done it all, and he's done it again, and over again. He is the most celebrated athlete here, and most deservedly so. He has been many of our motivations in this business, he has been our shoulder to cry on, and our mentor to turn to. He has enhanced our passion by displaying his. He is one of the reasons we all continue to do what we love, for as long as we do. Because, Ric, on behalf of everyone here like me, who have come close to retirement before it's truly time, I have come to see that you embody the strength we all hope to attain. And that if you were able to continue your career, after near-career-ending incidents and bumps and bruises, then we can, too. So Ric, thank you for giving us a gift that we cherish in our minds and in our hearts – pure dedication and the heart to keep on."

"Cheers!"

Everyone toasted their glasses, and again everyone made their way to Ric, hugging him and personally thanking him, one by one. Ric excused himself, having let the emotions get the best of him. He smiled as their words replayed in his mind.

_It's the fire in the eyes, the lines on the hand,  
It's the things you understand,  
Permanent ties from which you once ran,  
That's the measure of a man,_

Heading out to his car for his drive home, Ric let out a sigh of mixed feelings. He was happy, excited, sad, in disbelief. This night had taken forever to get to, yet came too quickly.

"Ric!"

He turned to find Marty Lunde jogging after him. The 2 came face to face, and Ric held out a hand. Marty brushed it aside and hugged Ric tightly, brotherly.

"How's it feel to finally have some company?" Ric joked.

Marty chuckled, pulling out of the hug and removing his glasses to wipe his tears. He nodded, "You let me know when you're home, I'll stop by."

"Of course."

They hugged again, flashes of their past in their minds. Ric Flair and Arn Anderson. The champ and the enforcer. Best friends.

"I love you, brother."

"I love you, too."

_You've come full circle, now you're home,  
Without the gold, without the chrome,_

Arriving home the next night, Ric quietly snuck into his house and headed to his room of memorabilia, carrying his baggage of the last items to be placed inside it. Stepping in, he flicked the light on, and stood at the doorway, scanning the room and his accomplishments. World title belts, framed robes, boots hung by their knotted laces. And now, everything in his bag.

Chris Benoit…

Ric plopped in his chair, burying his face in his hands. He couldn't believe that, of all the people who'd made his retirement so wonderful, one of his best friends hadn't been there. Ric finally broke down in tears, in sadness, for his fallen friends, Chris and Nancy, and then Daniel. He found himself wishing that they could've been there, and he could've hugged them and thanked them, and laughed and cried with them. He wished hard.

_And this is where you've always been,  
You had to lose so you could win,  
And rise above your troubles while you can,_

Tying his boots together, he hung them on an empty hook. Then he turned to his sequined robe. The royal blue, rhinestone-stubbed "Nature Boy" robe; his favorite.

_Now you can love, now you can lose,  
__Now you can choose,  
__That's the measure of a man,_

He found an empty hanger in the closet and patiently placed it on, tying the sash, and brushing off the robe.

_It's the fire in the eyes, the lines on the hand,  
__It's the things you understand,  
__The permanent ties from which you once ran,  
That's the measure of a man,_

He found one last empty hook on the wall of the room. He stared at the back of the garment, smiling.

_You've come full circle, now you're home,  
Without the gold, without the chrome,  
__And this is where you've always been,  
You had to lose so you could win,  
And rise above your troubles while you can,_

"Nature Boy," he read.

_Now you can love, now you can lose,  
__Now you can choose,_

He hung up his robe, one last time.

_That's the measure of a man._

_-_


End file.
